


fake can be just as good

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Interpol
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M, Genderfuck, M/M, Magic Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-28
Updated: 2008-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Paul Banks is a Real Doll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fake can be just as good

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/mumblemutter/pic/0014w1p3/)   


****

1.  
even better than the real thing  
(catatonic)

_**Q:** What sort of people buy RealDolls?  
**A:** There is no "type" of person who buys a RealDoll. Our customers come from all backgrounds and they buy Realdolls for many different reasons._

"I guess we just hide him in the bunk and hope that he'll change back at some point?" That's Daniel, staring intently at Paul. Or what used to be Paul.

"I wonder why a girl," Sam says, fingering long, thick tresses softly.

"Because Barbie Dolls are always girls?"

"No," Daniel says. "She's a Real Doll more than anything else. And there's a male model, Carlos. I mean, a model that's a male. Not a...uh, yeah."

"How do you know that?"

"The website, they sell them, Real Dolls - what? I was curious. I watched a documentary about them, okay?"

"Sure, yeah," Carlos says.

()

"At some point" turns out to be the next day, at noon, when Paul stumbles out of the bunk blearily and says, "Oh man, I had the weirdest fucking dream last night. You guys were all there and talking about me, and I wasn't able to move although that was allright, I didn't want to, but still. Why are you making that face, Carl? Carl?"

An hour later and Paul still hasn't come out of the bathroom. Carlos calls out to him, but Paul, once again, tells him to go away. "I have to pee," Carlos says, which is true. He does, and Paul, once again, is making it all about him. "You can go back in there after I go, I swear."

Paul opens the door. "You're an insensitive jerk."

"Thank you. Now move."

()

"It's like you're Cinderella, only minus the glass slipper and the fairy godmother. I saw an episode of Twilight Zone once, where a girl finds herself turning into a mannequin, only she realizes later that she was always one, she'd only gotten a reprieve for a short period of time."

"Paul is _not_ a Real Doll, Carlos."

"No, he just happens to turn into one at the stroke of midnight. Every night."

"Personally," Sam confesses to him later, "I've always thought that Paul was a little, not from this earth. This would actually explain a lot."

"I can hear you, you know," Paul calls out from the opposite end of the room. Sam only grins.

_**Q:** What is the best way to store my doll?  
**A:** For best maintenance of your doll, it should preferably be stored hanging in a neutral position, with legs slightly spread. If you prefer to store your doll lying or sitting down, make sure to move it regularly to avoid flat spots developing on the buttocks, legs or breasts._

"You can't just leave me in the bunk while I'm a uh..."

"Female replica of a sex-doll?"

"At this point, Carl, you want to be shutting up. I'm serious." Paul turns away from him and speaks directly to Daniel. "I can see and feel everything. The last couple of nights were endless. I can't even sleep. I'm just there, suspended in animation."

Daniel says, "What do you want us to do?"

()

Carlos can't believe that it's a night of the week and he's spending it watching Real Doll Paul watch a movie. At one point he wasn't even sure that Paul was able to see, and pronounced the whole thing "an exercise in futility and time wastage," but Daniel told him that Paul was able to recall plot points from movies so he probably could see after all.

"Oh look," he says, flipping aimlessly through a magazine, because of course Paul would choose movies that Carlos has no interest in watching again, "Britney's on a bender again. How very fascinating."

Real Doll Paul, as usual, offers no response.

_**Q:** How do I move my doll?  
**A:** You can either lift the doll in the bridal lift (one arm behind the shoulders, the other beneath the knees) and lift with your knees rather than your back, or lift the doll from under its arms to carry it. Never try to pull your doll towards you by the hands as this can severely damage the wrists._

"I'm just saying, the word 'sex doll' is demeaning and condescending. A lot of people use these dolls as companionship, some of whom can't form intimate relationships in a normal manner and so have to uh, and it's not as if Paul is a sex doll per se, he just turns into one every night and I wish you would stop calling him Barbie Paul it upsets him I think Sam don't you think?"

Sam says, "I think I'm staying out of this one. Sorry, Dan."

"I'll call him whatever I want." Carlos shrugs, and Daniel sighs.

()

Gaius doesn't seem to notice that Paul is, on occasion, made of plastic fantastic, and enjoys jumping in his lap and licking his face. Carlos keeps calling him to get off, but then Gaius mopes, and Carlos gives in and allows him to cuddle up.

Paul, to his credit, says nothing. Perhaps he enjoys the contact, but Carlos doesn't ask.

_**Q:** Tell me more about the doll's entries.  
**A:** The inside of the vaginal and anal entries are molded as part of the dolls and have texture and shape which make them feel very much like a real person. _

"Look, I just...from now on, you shower before midnight, and I don't care how grimy you felt because you hadn't washed your hair in two days and someone poured a drink all over you and and just, no showering before midnight, I." Daniel trails off when Carlos comes into the room, blushes deep and then stalks off, muttering under his breath.

"What was that all about?"

"He had to drag me out of the shower because I lost track of the time. I don't think he's seen a naked female in quite a while. It flustered him quite a bit."

"Ah," Carlos says. "Well."

()

"No, Carlos, I will not tell you if Paul is anatomically correct or not. It's none of your business, and besides, it's just. None of your business."

"But-"

"No."

_**Q:** Are there any known health risks? How difficult is it to keep my RealDoll in a sanitary condition?  
**A:** There are no known health risks associated with RealDoll products. Keeping the doll in a sanitary condition is easy – your doll can be cleaned with a mild soap or detergent._

"A week, and when Christy leaves I'll take over for the next week."

"But what if Paul stops changing after that? It would be patently unfair to me if that were to happen." And it's a reasonable argument, but Sam growls a little and Carlos sighs.

()

He certainly doesn't mean for both Sam and Daniel to be in a morning interview when he stumbles into the lounge going desperately, "I've lost Barbie Paul, help."

()

Eventually they find Paul, or Paul shows up, after noon, muttering "Fucking festivals, fucking Europe, fucking _Europeans._ I need a shower, God," under his breath.

Carlos says, "I'm sorry," and he means it for once. "Who took you?"

Paul shrugs. "My throat is sore," he says, and coughs.

_**Q:** Do you make a BBW or chubby doll?  
**A:** Due to material restrictions we cannot make a very buxom or voluptuous doll. We cannot make dolls much bigger because they would be prohibitively heavy and difficult for most people to use._

"You should take a picture of me. I've not seen myself. I think I'd like to see myself."

"You look pretty much like you look now," Carlos says. "Only female. Scrawny. Nice tits though," he adds, because Paul tends to be sensitive to issues like these. Although he always preferred the exact opposite body type to Paul's, so perhaps Paul would take it as a compliment.

"Take the photo, please."

"I like my hair," Paul says, when Carlos hands him the polaroid. "Clothes are too big though. And the lighting's wretched."

"Best I could do. I'm not a photographer. I'm not getting paid to do you a favor."

Paul lifts his head and eyes Carlos speculatively. Carlos flinches, mostly on instinct. "What?"

"Take a better photo. See if you can."

()

"Death, Carlos," Sam says, when Carlos borrows his SLR digital camera. "Death. That's my baby. And delete the fucking porn before you give it back."

"It's not for porn."

"Sure."

_**Q:** I would like a fantasy doll; can you make me one?  
**A:** Yes! We have several standard fantasy options available already including custom skin tones, specialty and animal eyes, elf ears, a devil face, fangs etc. Please contact us for more information._

Carlos treats challenges like he treats everything else: with absolute commitment and with the need to prove everyone wrong.

This is nothing more and nothing less.

The first series of photos he takes are minimalist black-and-white pieces of Paul sitting on the lounge, leaning back, hair in different styles. It's the first time Carlos has touched Real Doll Paul, or the first time he ever did it when he didn't need to and there weren't others around.

Paul looks unimpressed at the pictures. "That's it?"

"Oh, I can do better than that. If you allow me to dress you."

"I don't think so, Carl." But then he purses his lips. "Yeah, okay. Do what you want."

_**Q:** I want to start shopping for my doll's clothes now, before she arrives. Is this advisable?  
**A:** We recommend that you wait until your doll arrives and familiarize yourself with her body before you purchase her new clothes. _

Carlos tries not to look at first. Instead he buys dresses and skirts and stockings, "About your size, freckled, no I don't think pastels will suit yeah I like the black, and the white. I'll take the red."

Dresses Paul up, he's heavy so it's not easy, but Carlos does his best and he's had some experience in undressing and dressing females. The color's perfect, like he'd known it would be, and he presses and smoothes and somehow finds himself leaning in, she smells exactly like Paul only softer, somehow, more delicate, and his hands are halfway up her thighs before he stops, and turns away.

The photos get easier after that. Carlos knows what he wants and he knows what he likes, and Paul, even without make-up "No makeup." "But-" "No argument. I am not waking up with lipstick on my lips that wasn't originally on a girl." "Fine.", the camera adores her. Skin cleared up and freckles startlingly lovely instead of jarring, no permanent bags under her eyes from too many encounters with debauchery, Carlos takes picture after picture, and in the photos, he can't tell that the girl isn't real.

()

"The dress is Dolce. What do you mean you don't think it fits you?" Carlos wants to throw an impatient fit, but instead he just grabs the camera out of Paul's hands and stares at the picture. It looks amazing, just like he thought it would.

"I guess Dolce's standards have dropped considerably. Personally, I prefer Marc Jacobs. Less Euro-trash whore."

()

"What do you mean you want to keep on watching Paul? A week ago you were on my back and bitching endlessly to me about how your precious time was slipping away like sand through the fucking hourglass."

"Things change."

"I'm not sure. Paul?"

Paul doesn't even look up, but he says, "It's fine, Sam. We're fine."

()

"Euro-trash whore, says the stuck-up frat boy. Euro-trash."

Fashion is art.

_**Q:** Can I dress my doll in any type of clothing?  
**A:** Yes, you can dress your doll in anything you like but we recommend avoiding thick clothing such as denim jeans or boned items like corsets if you are leaving the doll dressed. Shirts that button, tie, snap or zip closed are easier to put on dolls than tops such as T-shirts or pullovers. _

He tries different styles afterwards. Mixes and matches because he's fast running out of space for the clothes, Paul mostly grunts in vague derision at the photos, but Carlos finds himself caring less and less, because the girl he spends his nights with, he slides stockings up her legs and positions her skirt just so and tilts her head just so, and the pictures always come out amazing to him.

()

"This skirt, is this the new look you're planning on?"

"Decide whether you think I'm a transvestite or gay, Sam. One or the other."

"Can't you be both?"

"Give me back my skirt. It belongs to someone else. Someone I took it off of."

"The price-tag is still on it," Sam observes mildly, but he hands the skirt back to Carlos anyway, and continues, "It's a beautiful skirt. Gorgeous lines."

"And I'm the one that's gay."

()

It's when Carlos does the schoolgirl outfit with the socks and the tie and her positioned with her legs open but hands tucked demurely between her knees is when Paul says casually, going through the picture album one by one, "If you want I'll let you fuck me. That. Her."

"Don't be absurd. I don't want to have sex with an inanimate object, especially not yours."

But he's lying, and he knows Paul knows that, and Carlos says, after a beat, when he can speak, "Why?"

"Why not?"

It's as good an answer as any.

_**Q:** How does sex feel with a RealDoll?  
**A:** When penetrated, a vacuum is formed inside the doll's entries which provides a powerful suction effect. This effect is strongest in the RealDoll's oral entry. Some of RealDoll's users have reported intense orgasms due to this specific feature. _

They're in a hotel for the night. In Hamburg, so it's oddly fitting. Carlos stalks around the room edgily, barking out orders to room service and gulping down the champagne when it arrives.

Paul looks bored, and then Carlos blinks and he's not there anymore and she is.

On the bed, and Carlos thinks she will taste cold and plastic and he will change his mind, "Sorry I'm just not into Barbie dolls," but she's not, she's exactly not, and at some point he doesn't even notice that she doesn't move and doesn't speak, it feels as if she does, when he's on her and in her and wrapped all around her. Carlos shudders, and then he comes, harder, he thinks, than he's ever had before.

()

"So you're sleeping with Paul?"

"Barbie Paul," Carlos says. "Don't judge. You're the one that gave me the speech about companionship and such."

"But it's still...Paul."

"No, really not. Look," Carlos continues impatiently. "Do you really want to be having this conversation with me?"

"No, fuck no. I'll just be going now."

"Fine. Catch you later."

"Carlos," Daniel says, when he's at the door. So close, Carlos thinks. "Be careful, okay?"

()

_**Q:** Does the doll include any electronic features which enhance the pleasure experience such as a vibrating vagina or rotating tongue?  
**A:** RealDolls do not have electronic features such as vibrators or rotating tongues. We believe vibrators are used to enliven artificial-feeling vinyl love dolls, but this is not needed with RealDoll. However, if you enjoy the added stimulation, RealDolls do work well with such devices. You can use any sex toy imaginable with your doll, and in a very realistic way._

But Carlos doesn't want to be careful. He wants, mostly, to spend his nights fucking Paul. Dressing her up in pretty clothes only to remove them again, or just to push them aside. Skirt around her waist and with her hair in her eyes and Carlos' hands gripped tight on her thighs - that's a good way to waste the hours away, yeah.

()

"Done with the camera?"

"Yeah," Carlos says distractedly. "Thanks, by the way. It was useful, but I don't need it anymore."

Paul wanders past, and he spares a smile for Sam, but ignores Carlos.

Carlos grimaces and waits for him to leave. "What," he asks Sam, when Sam raises a brow.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

()

"Hey, you want to uh-"

"No."

_**Q:** How flexible are RealDolls?  
**A:** RealDolls cannot be "twisted into a pretzel," compressed into a tight fetal position, or squeezed into a small storage area, and expected not to break or tear. These dolls are designed to be posed in positions that are natural and painless for most adults._

But he doesn't stop Carlos, doesn't say a word when Carlos tries out new positions and wrangles her into different places. Carlos wonders sometimes how far he can push it, but apparently the answer is: as far as you fucking can, and I hope you enjoy the ride, dear. Carlos even starts putting make-up on her; pink lipstick that he wipes off with wet kisses or when he gets her on her knees. Eyeliner if he's in the mood.

He leaves, every morning, right before Paul changes back, and whenever he happens to see Paul, his face is always scrubbed clean. He wonders, sometimes, if Paul wakes up with the taste of him all over his skin, exactly like Carlos leaves with the taste of Paul all over his. Sam catches him once, stumbling out of a hotel room somewhere in Zurich. Carlos backs up against a wall as he advances, bird of prey on the hunt. A short one.

"You smell, Carlos, of sex." His palms are flat on either side of Carlos' head and his breath is warm on Carlos' cheek. "You smell like Paul."

Carlos laughs, nervously. "How do you expect me to respond to that?"

"It's kind of fucked up, even for you two."

"Advanced form of masturbation, more like."

"So your ideal woman is an inanimate object?"

"No, my ideal woman is someone that looks like the female version of Paul but doesn't speak, ever." Carlos blinks. "I do not want to be having this conversation with you. I didn't want to be having this conversation with Daniel. Please remove yourself from my personal space."

"Whatever you say."

_**Q:** Do RealDolls come with a warranty?  
**A:** Due to the nature of the product, we cannot accept returns. However, we stand behind our product and do whatever we can to satisfy our customers._

Bullets and bedlam, and one day midnight passes and Paul blinks, and stares at his hands, and goes, "Huh."

()

"I've never been so glad to see you after dusk, my friend," Sam says.

"To be fair, in the night is when I look the best." Paul's grin is wider than any Carlos has seen on him in a while.

Sam laughs and hugs him and kisses him on the cheek.

Daniel pats Paul awkwardly on the back, and rambles on about something or another until Carlos tunes him out.

Paul doesn't look at him once, but surprisingly, that's okay for Carlos too.

()

At some point Carlos gets tired of avoiding Paul not just during the day but at night as well. "Look, I think we should talk."

"Okay, Carl. What do you want to talk about?"

"I'm not sure, actually. I hadn't gotten that far yet. I imagined you would rather not have a conversation about this."

"Ah." Paul brushes his hair until it's in front of his face and says, "Do you miss him?"

"Her," Carlos corrects automatically. "And no, of course not, why would I?"

But he's lying, and he knows that Paul knows that. He only shrugs though, and Carlos says, "Why did you let me do it in the first place?"

"Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

"It wasn't an answer the first time around, you didn't pay any attention."

"Yes, but-"

"Do you want to know what it felt like?" Paul leans close, and Carlos can smell him, heady and dizzying. "To have you fuck me every night, and not be able to move? Do you? I could show you, you would just have to remember to stay real still."

Carlos swallows. "I think I'll pass. Thanks."

"Yeah, that's what I figured you'd say." He rolls his eyes, and suddenly he's just _Paul._ "Are we done talking now?"

"Yeah," Carlos says. "I guess we are."

_**Q:** What happens when "the honeymoon is over" and I feel that the doll is not for me and wish to return it?  
**A:** Although we'd like to fully satisfy all our customers, our firm policy is: ALL SALES ARE FINAL._

Afterwards, Carlos asks one of the crew to give all the women's clothing he has to goodwill.

****

2.  
get yours today  
(sex-toy)

When he wakes up there's someone heaving on top of him, breath rancid and disgusting. Paul grunts, or he tries, but he can't seem to move his mouth. Then he tries moving the rest of him, but that doesn't work either. Then he realizes the man on top of him is not just on top of him he's _in_ him, and that's when he tries screaming, but that, that works out just as well as every other movement he's tried.

Quite possibly he should not have allowed Carlos to convince him that weed wasn't an actual drug. Perhaps this is some sort of post rehab prevention thing, only not advertised in the cute little brochure they gave to him. Relapse and you will find yourself having hyper realistic dreams that some stranger is fucking you up the -

that's when the man slams in again, hard, and -

\- it's not his.

This is when he wakes up, all horror movie cliche like, screaming.

()

"It was just...a bad fucking night," he tells a sleepy but vaguely attentive Sam, over a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He's mostly grateful that he has full use of his body once more, and the nightmare is over. "Bad...fucking dreams."

Funny how it didn't _feel_ like a dream though.

()

This time he can't even try to speak, because there is a cock deep in his mouth, and Paul _chokes_ but it's not physical, just his brain telling his body that he should be, at this point, retching and biting down as hard as he can. Unfortunately his body doesn't seem to be paying any attention. Too bad. He's never quite felt the urge to bite something as he has right this moment.

It tastes like acid, burns down his throat and he's telling himself over and over again, _please let me wake up, please let me wake up_, but instead he feels himself getting lifted, whomever's holding him heaves with the effort and lays him gently on what feels like a bed. This is when Paul realizes that he can actually see, if only straight ahead and through a strange, colored filter. There's a face in front of him now, _cocksucker_, is what Paul wants to spit, but then no, it's quite the opposite in fact. Cocksuck_ee_.

Paul thinks that possibly he wants to send a letter to every woman that's ever given him a blowjob, thanking them profusely.

It's a long list though.

The face leans down and kisses him and whispers, "I love you, baby."

()

He examines his throat in the mirror - it doesn't seem to be bruised or affected in any way, and his mouth doesn't taste like a cock's been it it at any point, so that's a relief at least.

Carlos knocks on the door, starts calling out "Come on Paul you've been there for fucking ever at least let someone else take a turn."

"You should talk about indulgent bathroom habits, _Carl_." Paul slides open the lock and blinks resentfully at Carlos.

Carlos only shrugs and says, "Whatever. I need to go. You look terrible, by the way."

"Thanks."

()

Someone's laughing, that's all he hears, loud and filled with amusement. There's something on top of his belly, and he realizes that it's probably a drink, it's cold and water seems to be dripping on his skin. "So yeah, I kind of thought, why not, you know? Chose one with the biggest tits I could find, she's kind of fucking amazing, dude."

"Do you think I could-"

"Yeah yeah, why'd you think I invited you over? I thought maybe we'd do like in Newark, remember that night with that whore, what was her name?"

"Fuck if I know. Who cares. Yeah, yeah." And there's a hand on his head, brushing hair that Paul's certain isn't his. "This will be fucking great, dude."

Paul has never wanted to be anywhere else his entire life. At some point Guy A throws his legs over his shoulder as he leans forward and shoves, and Paul realizes that his legs aren't his; they're svelte and shapely and decidedly female. And Guy A keeps shoving, and shoving, and suddenly it stops hurting and starts feeling good, and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck -

()

He throws up the entire next morning, and when Daniel hovers worriedly over him he just says, "I think I'm losing my mind. I'm hallucinating myself as some sort of inanimate fuck toy."

"Uh," Daniel says.

"Yeah."

()

Perhaps he will just stop sleeping. He settles himself down after the show in front of the lounge with coffee and various DVDs to watch. When Carlos wanders by he says brightly, "Carl, come watch a movie with me." Carlos eyes him suspiciously, but then shrugs and shrugs and sinks his long, graceful body into the couch next to Paul.

The man that's in him actually smells quite nice, and he's kind of just rocking against Paul, kissing him and touching his hair and whispering nonsense words into his ear.

He wakes up alone, the tv turned off and also, _hard._

Carlos complains afterwards, "Trust you to fall asleep five minutes into the movie. I couldn't even wake you."

"Did you try?"

"I did, but it was as if you had exited your body. Quite frankly I was somewhat worried, but I put a mirror under your nose and you were still breathing, so I decided to leave you there. Perhaps next time you will stay awake past the opening credits."

"Next time," Paul says hollowly.

()

He's seated in front of a mirror, and for the first time he sees himself. Blue eyed, dark haired, pink lipped. Female. Almost, but not quite real. Someone's hovering over him, a woman this time, putting hot curlers in his hair and chattering about something or another. Paul can't get past how _pretty_ he - or she, is.

"There we go," the woman says finally. "Now aren't you lovely. Your boy's going to love you even more now."

Paul, quite frankly, could give a fuck how his _boy_ feels about him, but it ends up not so bad, they just drive around in a convertible all day, and the wind in his hair and the cool air on his skin is probably the most fun he's had in ages.

He doesn't even mind all that much when they pull over and he's lifted and set into the backseat. The touch feels almost good, and it doesn't hurt.

Right until the point where he pulls out and comes on Paul's face.

()

"So it's like I wake up in these different dolls, from everywhere, every night, and I kind of figured at first it wasn't real, I was just dreaming or hallucinating, but now I think I'm not. This is happening. This is real."

Sam's staring at him, and he looks worried. "I'm not making this up," Paul says. "I swear. It doesn't matter in any case. I just wanted to tell someone."

"Okay." And Sam pulls him in, and hugs him tight, and Paul's certain that Sam believes he's losing his mind, but it's a gesture he appreciates in any case.

()

"What did I do to deserve this?" The man staring back at him in the bathroom mirror has no answers. Paul's certain that there's a reason for everything, if not a grand arching plan, then at least some sort of purpose. But he can't quite figure out the purpose of any of this, except that whatever it is, it's inordinately cruel and unusual.

A thought, then: what if one day he goes to sleep and gets stuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the sink until he can make himself stop shaking.

()

One night he ends up in a chair, facing at least five other dolls. He can never tell what he looks like, but he assumes normal, from the look of the rest of them. The man that owns them is clean cut and vaguely familiar looking - Paul can't quite place the name to the face.

Celebrity though, relatively so. He ends up being posed in various garments for an hour or two, twined together and apart from the other girls. It's boring as fuck, especially since the guy keeps getting phonecalls and nattering on about his fucking genius art that he's in the process of developing.

After a while, he finds himself wishing for nothing more than someone to grab him and fuck him senseless.

()

It's not always getting fucked, is what he realizes after the fifth night. Sometimes he's just held, or caressed, or used as a prop. There's a man who sits him in a chair and talks to him endlessly, and holds his hand, and Paul thinks, _oh you desperate freak_, but then it's sad, and he seems nice, and there's a hollow pit in Paul's stomach that doesn't go away throughout the entire next day. Sometimes he goes back to that same guy, and only once, he's being kissed and fondled and then when they fuck, it's sweet and gentle and Paul feels pleasure wash over him, a strange, relentless wave that curls up in his belly and is like nothing he's ever felt before.

"It's funny," the guy tells him once, and Paul still doesn't know his name. "Some nights it's as if you're more real than others. It's as if I feel you, here," and he puts Paul's hand to his chest, right over his heart. Paul's always coveted his privacy, and being alone, but then there's being alone by choice and then there's being alone because you have no-one else.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ he tries to say, but there are no exceptions and he can't ever make himself talk.

()

But then of course sometimes he finds himself covered in bodily fluids and fucked violently and painfully in every hole available and dumped in embarrassing positions and places, and once, after a particularly bad night, he snaps at Daniel, "Men are pigs, I just wanted you to know that. They just want to stick their dicks into an orifice and spew their seed everywhere. It's reprehensible."

Daniel blinks, and blinks, and finally says, "Uh...Huh."

Daniel hasn't had a date, and probably hasn't gotten laid, in almost two years. Paul waves him away, "Oh, just leave. Leave."

()

The first time he sees Helena after this starts happening, they begin to fuck, but then he pictures her as a doll and him as a doll and everything starts to go heady and dark and after a while Helena says, "Paul, baby, you're shaking, stop it. Come on," and he shivers and he tries, but he can't.

()

It's the hand-holding guy that night, and Paul's never been more grateful.

()

The worst is waking up face down on a hard surface, his hands and legs gripped in restraints and pulled wide open. Paul would wonder why it is he can't move but he can feel every single thing happening to him, but that's akin to wondering why he's stuck in this loop of hell in the first place, and he's stopped searching for an answer ages ago.

He also stopped wondering ages ago if he was just insane and this was a richly detailed and curiously real fantasy his subconscious kicked up.

Mostly because, that one time, he wanders in to the lounge to find Carlos watching a documentary on real dolls. He only stops throwing up because he's this close to passing out. The man that he recognized, the doll-fixer who fucked him because "You're amazingly fucking real, wow I almost can't believe it" and Paul remembers being offended because the doll belonged to someone else, and also because it hurt, both getting fixed up and getting bent over a chair.

Carlos, at some point, starts knocking on the door worriedly, and sometimes, Carlos isn't quite the asshole he can't help but be, and when Paul opens it, finally, he gets handed a glass of water and a muttered "We can watch something else, come on." His hand on Paul's arm, and Paul doesn't feel like flinching.

He goes online once, and only once, after that, finds websites with dolls of all different stripes and colors. He doesn't recognize most of them, but if there's a photo of the owner, he does. Davecat and Mike and Gordon and it's far worse when he knows their names, far worse when he knows some of them think he's real and some don't. As if his identity is drawn and redrawn every night, simply depending on whose doll he ends up in. As if he's not entirely Paul Banks anymore, but a being who only exists as a projection of someone else's wants.

()

He wakes up in what looks like a factory once, hooked up onto a pole, with dozens of dolls surrounding him, all pale and hairless and limbs hanging in dejected and ungainly positions. It strikes him, suddenly, that there might be people in there, just like him. All trapped in an endless nightmare loop, guys and dolls, guys and _their_ dolls, inanimate only not.

()

It's not their fault if they don't know he's there.

()

On a rational level, he understands that fully. They're buying a doll, not a person. On a rational level, it's not their fault.

On an utterly irrational, gut-clenching, adrenelin-rising level, Paul wants to hate them all. Or perhaps not all, but most.

()

Perhaps if he ordered a doll in his likeness, sent them a photo and a few thousand dollars for a female model exactly like him, he'd find in his own doll, and no-one else's.

But probably not.

()

And one day, perhaps, he might not wake up at all.

****

3.  
batteries not included  
(love-joy diver)

Sometimes Carlos tells himself he's just a consumer, despite all his best efforts to be anything but. Product of a consumerist society, intent on the acquisition of things because because someone told him to want them. Because he was bored that one night and the starkly aesthetic beauty of the commercials caught his wandering eye and his hand reached out to place an order before he'd even processed it properly.

But Paul lives and breathes and talks in a way utterly unlike anything that Carlos has ever bought. Helping Earthers re-build a post apocalyptic economy, is the tag-line he sees on those nightly channels that cater to the more socially conscious of them. The ones on the day-time ones made it sound as if you were buying a pet. Except you weren't expected to fuck your pet, just feed them and receive slavish devotion in return. Carlos is self-deluded sometimes, but this he knows: Paul is anything but devoted.

They play chess until Carlos gets tired of being so bourgeois, and then they play pool. Paul has an affinity for it - ancient Earth game, Carlos thinks at first it was just programmed into her, like everything else. In a way he's right. "I was modelled after a rock star," she says, on one of those rare occasions when she's feeling talkative and confessional. "A musician. Early twenty-first century American rock. It's easier than thinking up new personalities and new faces, and less unpredictable than just letting chance do the work. Of course, they switched the genders for you."

Carlos pictures some industrious doll digging up the graves of famous people to force life back into them. He knows a man who cloned his daughter right down to the memories, even though it's expensive and a mostly legal gray area. "You're a copy of him?"

Paul's answering smile is wry. "I'm a copy of who someone thought he was."

()

On the streets they go unnoticed except for the occasional person pausing to glance at Paul's unerring beauty. Her skin is flawless and she walks with an easy grace that doesn't search for attention but gets it nonetheless. Almost, but not quite human. Designed to be easily recognizable as something else but on the right side of the uncanny valley. For most people, at least. Sometimes the stares she gets aren't quite lust, and the ones Carlos gets aren't quite jealousy. He ignores them, mostly, is used to stares, but Paul walks closer to him those times, hides her face behind her pretty hair and lowers her eyes.

They have dinner at a nice restaurant overlooking the dome; Carlos doesn't pay attention to the gases outside the breathing atmosphere, mixing and coalescing to form a riot of colors, but Paul's wide eyed and amazed, asking questions that Carlos usually can't be bothered to answer but for some reason he feels compelled to, anxious to please in a way he hasn't for a long time. All this, and over a sure thing that already belongs to him.

"I think I'll enjoy the chicken more than the steak," Paul says, and Carlos forgets, sometimes, that she's brand new, and everything's an experience.

"It's not real chicken," is all he can think of as a reply, and Paul frowns, as if it never crossed her mind that it would matter.

He helps her light a cigarette, a quaint little habit Carlos has never quite gotten past, until the waiter comes by and tells Carlos apologetically, "There's no smoking here, sir. Sorry."

Carlos says, mostly because he's in a mood to be needlessly confrontational, which is pretty much always, "You can tell that to her, she's sitting right there," and the waiter blinks, but she's already stubbing out the cigarette, her perfect face a blank mask.

()

"This is what you replaced me with?" Daniel looks pissed, and if he were anyone else Carlos would figure that Daniel was jealous, or he thought that Carlos wasn't over him and so he'd gotten himself a replacement that you could buy. But he's not, his mind doesn't work that way. Like it or not, all the bastard wants is the best for him.

It's up to Sam then, to say what Carlos can't, which is: "It's none of our business, Dan."

Daniel bristles, not quite ready to give up the fight. "It's a doll, Carlos. You might as well be fucking your own right hand, that's about the extent of it." Daniel clearly hasn't been paying attention to the news; too busy, no doubt, fucking his brand new, almost fully human at least by birth, boyfriend. Sam's grin at being ignored is hard, full of metal teeth and flashing green eyes.

"Okay, first of all, they're autonomous now. The new generation comes without behavioral shackles - she has free will, just like you or I. Second of all, and she is a _she_, not an it, I am not fucking her."

But Sam's head has snapped up. "They're not chipped? I'd heard, but I thought it was just a rumor," he says, and he sounds thoughtful.

"So what?"

"So. If you're planning an invasion."

Daniel's smile in his direction is amused, but mostly indulgent. "You watch too many movies," he says.

"You should talk." Sam laughs, and forgets the autonomous robots planting agents in the form of sex dolls. Carlos wants to feel left out of their shared smiles, but for some reason he doesn't. Is grateful instead that they've stopped talking about Paul.

()

"So are you planning to invade us?" At her wide eyed blink he continues, "Take control of the government, turn us all into indentured servants, use the resources that Earth has long ago run out of."

"No, not as far as I can tell?" Paul continues to look confused.

"Because it would probably be fair. We are the ones that laid it to waste after all, and left you guys behind to pick up after the proverbial and literal compost heap."

"I. I might have missed it. I wasn't feeling well on the day they scheduled that particular program input. I believe the codename was Talitha Kumi. I have to return for an upgrade at some point."

"Aha. I knew it."

"I liked your friends," she says, abruptly switching the subject, they way she does when she's bored or just doesn't want to continue the conversation. She does that more often nowadays, Carlos notices. Expresses her opinions and thoughts; once Carlos even caught a faint flicker of irritation in her eyes, but maybe Paul just isn't the type of doll to lose her temper and it's not some kind of ingrained programming to be subservient.

Autonomy, though. Programmed to be free, if there was such a thing. Dolls that are shipped here have no-where to go.

"They liked you too." Once they'd gotten around to dinner and Paul had expressed an interest in books they'd traded stories written by other people and Carlos realized he wasn't the only one that found her interesting. Daniel seemed to forget that she was essentially Carlos' masturbatory toy once she told him that she spent the hours that Carlos was at work reading or watching movies. "I liked that they liked you." He slides his hands up and down her arms and she sways until she's in Carlos' space, until their bodies are pressed together. A perfect fit, _made to spec_, although Carlos had just chosen her off the rack, more or less, specified gender and general hair and eye color and nothing else. Surprise me, and this is what he gets.

"I want to," and then she's on her knees, and Carlos wants to tell her to stop, but he closes his eyes instead. Distantly he tries to decide whether she's any good or not, whether she's had experience or training, but he can mostly only concentrate on hot wet heat and the sound of his own voice as he whistles through his teeth and tries not to come too fast.

()

The real Paul Banks, or the original Paul Banks, is not quite as beautiful as this one. Up close in pictures his face is wrecked, and his appearance is ever changing, from something similar to what he is now to a version pale and too thin and angular, to a period of time when he looked like a fair number of people would look like until they'd cured obesity. Carlos stares at that particular image for a while; they make dolls to suit any number of tastes so he's seen them, from slightly plump to extremely fat, but it's disconcerting to see the face of someone that he knows on a body shaped so differently. Not that it matters. This Paul Banks is dead, and the one he has now isn't real.

She looks real enough when she leans in the doorway and smiles at Carlos. Hands in her jacket pockets, in the clothes that Carlos picked out at first, but now she chooses her own, although what she wears is similar to what Carlos chose initially, with tiny flourishes that make no sense to Carlos but are endearing somehow. "Do you remember him as memories or as a person from a book you've memorized?"

"Does it matter?" She draws closer and watches the photos spin and dance in the air, revolving to encompass them so they can both see clearly.

"I'm not sure. Paul Banks seems to be an asshole, more or less. From what I can tell." There's too much information in the archives. A last ditch effort to save what was left of the Earth that once existed, all Carlos thinks when he's bored and scrolls through the massive database is that the internet, back then, as it is now, is full of lonely, desperate freaks spiraling out of control and searching for comfort in the arms of anyone who would hopefully understand.

That, and how the porn was so much better when it was made by humans.

"I guess that makes me one too then. They put me together from all of these. There's a model out there that looks like this, by the way." She grabs a photo of what Carlos has already come to name Version 2.0.

"How do you know they didn't mess with you somehow. Remove the more unpleasant seeming elements of your personality. Perceived personality."

"I don't know." The frown on her face comes across as one of surprise more than anything else.

"Do you think if I bought a new model like yours, it would be exactly like you?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember your past as you watching it or as you experiencing it?"

"I don't...know."

"What do you know, then," Carlos snaps, irritated and confused.

"Nothing. I know nothing. You ask too many fucking questions." She starts backing away, but Carlos grabs hold of one slim wrist and pulls her forward, until their bodies are pressed together and Carlos can wrap one arm around her waist. She doesn't try to leave, she just stands there and stares calmly, but her face is nothing but subdued defiance. This close, she is immaculate and untarnished, a picture perfect imitation of life. "If we were planning an overthrow, I'd put your name as first up against the wall," she says, and her voice is as flat as it's ever been.

"Then perhaps I could just send you back. Ask for a version more docile and less prone to thoughts of me dead." He's being cruel, this he's aware of, but it's grimly satisfying to see her blanch, and when Carlos abruptly lets her go, she stumbles away and shakes. This is what absolute power feels like, then.

Carlos feels slightly ill.

Paul says, "I'll just leave now," and Carlos turns away before the door clicks quietly shut behind her.

She returns soon enough, when Carlos is sorting the photos and interviews out, organizing them into folders based on approximate date taken. On her knees, her hands on Carlos' thighs, she's not offering an apology or a promise of anything else but more of the same, but Carlos slides a hand through her hair and sighs, and he almost apologizes himself, but then he doesn't.

()

Daniel's old-fashioned. It's not such a stigma anymore. Loud German Opera blares and Paul dances awkwardly, shuffling her feet back and forth. Not that one can dance, exactly, to Wagner's Götterdämmerung, but there's no way she'd do any better with a different form of music. Everyone watches though, in this club that they're in that Carlos takes her to because it's early twenty-second century kitsch and Carlos can never resist kitsch.

Paul's probably more than a little bit drunk on the wine Carlos has been feeding her all night or she would notice the eyes on her, and stop. There's an unstudied grace though, to the way she moves, and the lines of her body are long and lean and tight, save for her hips which are curved like a teenaged girl's, and her breasts, which look out of place somehow, in a body made so angular. Carlos drinks his wine and waits until he's pleasantly wasted and can ignore the way his breath wants to hitch whenever Paul glances at him, which is often.

When Paul finally stumbles over, her cheeks are flushed and her smile is wide. "I bet you're going to tell me this isn't real wine, either," she says. Her hand on Carlos' back is friendly rather than intimate, but her breath on Carlos' cheek is punch-drunk plum sweetness and her mouth on the nape of Carlos' neck is nothing but an invitation. Carlos lets her lean in and pets her hair awkwardly, shifts so she can't feel the hard-on that's been there for a while. Paul only sighs loosely, and she'll be unconscious in a few minutes if all the signs are correct. Carlos hadn't thought that they'd be affected by alcohol like this, but then again, why not?

"This isn't real wine," Carlos says, to no-one that is listening. "Do you see anyplace to grow wine here?" And there it is, Paul's slight weight suddenly heavy on Carlos' shoulder and her mouth turning slack against his skin. "Come on. I'll take you home."

But Paul blinks, and mumbles softly in an almost sing-song tone, "Home is where the heart is, or so they say. My heart was grown in a vat." Then she hiccups.

()

"You understand, no-one chooses to stay on Earth. You can't re-build what's been sucked dry." Paul says this conversationally, while she's putting on her dress. Carlos at one point suggests that the white shoes won't go so well with the black organza, but he's ignored. "They build you when someone wants you, and then you get asked if you would like to stay or if you would rather go with the off-worlder that paid for you to be created."

"What if you choose to stay?"

"Then they build another model. They refused to tell me which model I was. If there was a predecessor that chose to stay. I remember asking. But I don't think that there is."

This she tells Carlos because Carlos specifically asks, not because she has any interest in telling her life story - however short that story might be. Not secretive so much as it doesn't cross her mind that she could share, is what Carlos is coming to realize. But Carlos wants to know everything. He walks over and helps her with her zipper, watches her face in the mirror as her eyes flutter closed, lashes dusty gold and long enough to sweep the top of her cheekbones. "Sam says that you guys should start building warriors, dolls with super brain power and super strength to infiltrate and destroy us all."

Paul laughs, and it's only slightly tinged with bitterness. "I don't think it works like that."

"How does it work, then?"

"The fuck do I know, Carl? I'm just a doll."

"Did you just call me Carl?"

"I did, yeah."

"Why?"

"I just felt like it. I think we're done with the dress." She can be stubborn when she wants to be, and Carlos wonders if it's an anomaly, or if the dollmakers deliberately made her such - they can learn, and adapt, is also what he was promised.

()

Paul sleeps with him now, even though she doesn't quite need to sleep. They lie apart, save for the occasions when Carlos will get up and glide his hand down her spine, or run his fingers through her hair. Sometimes he slides his fingers into her and fucks her like that, slow or quick, depending on his mood, and he'll watch her face as it stutters and starts, hold her when she starts to shudder.

It's easy enough; Paul reacts like she's a virgin that's never been touched before, and it takes a while for Carlos to get that that's because she is. Carlos enjoys hearing the soft pleas and sighs, and he even enjoys turning away afterwards and not letting her reciprocate.

()

He's managed to find some of Paul's music, buried in an almost forgotten folder in the archive. He's not quite sure he understands it; it's interesting, but otherwise very late twentieth century. What he doesn't expect is for her to frown and to insist that Carlos turns it off, and when Carlos refuses to she exits hastily from the room. Carlos doesn't get it, and she says, "Fuck you," when he laughs.

"Fine, okay," Carlos says finally, dramatically. "We will not listen to your music anymore. The mistress's wish is my humble command."

"Thank you," is all Paul says in response. Carlos stalks over to her, and she backs off as if he's worried that Carlos will hit her, and the truth is Carlos isn't sure what he's going to do until he gets there. Yell at her, most likely, until she backs down, and Carlos knows she will. He ends up doing nothing, instead, and afterwards he deletes all the music.

()

"Do you want to fuck me?" It's the first time that Paul's ever made an explicit suggestion, and Carlos doesn't know what to say. Yes, of course, but he's shaking his head no. She kisses him then, soft, on the lips, and it's a surprise, and it's a kiss that a machine gives because that's what her human wants - _guaranteed to please, you will never regret getting one. get in touch with your local distributor now_, but Carlos falls for it anyway. Or his body does. It hits Carlos then, at that exact moment, that it's not so much that they falsely advertised the dolls as it is that Carlos simply wants more than what's promised in the twenty-page contract that they made him sign.

They don't have sex that night. Instead they talk, and they kiss, and Paul tells Carlos who she used to be, in halting, soft tones. She could be reciting the life of anyone else, or someone else, false memories but they feel real enough. It's immeasurably cruel, and after a while neither of them want to talk, so Paul puts her head on Carlos' shoulder and they sit there for a while. Carlos isn't used to feeling vulnerable, especially not in the face of such extreme vulnerability himself. But Paul's vulnerability has a strange currency about it, tempered by uncertainty and a hint of steel.

"I want us to fuck," Paul says at some point, her breath a soft sigh on Carlos' collarbone, and Carlos is a big enough bastard to know that he'll fuck her even if she didn't expressly state that she wanted it. Even if she only gives in, and she will give in because they're all smart enough to know they don't get to refuse. The only reason he doesn't is because he's not quite ready yet.

()

"I've never dated a rock star before."

"You realize that once you've bought the milk it doesn't constitute as dating anymore, don't you?"

"Yeah, but since I own the milk I can pretend that I want to date it. That's a terrible - I don't even like milk. There are no cows here. Would you like to go on a date with me?" And he's uncertain now, a knot in his stomach that feels so much like butterflies it can't be anything but. "Tell me more about Paul Banks," he says, but Paul kisses him instead. Low, and sweet, and not so much with lust as with the promise of it. Until Carlos slips his arms around her narrow waist and pulls her close, and then she shivers, opens her mouth to let Carlos in.

****

-right on-


End file.
